Page 73 of Never Dare a Duke
She almost couldn’t swallow, could barely remember her own name. “But why—”
“Don’t speak.” He spread his shirt wide, shrugged it from his shoulders, and she caught a shuddering breath at the beauty of his sleekly muscled torso. “I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think.”
He began to unbutton his trousers, and some distant part of her screamed that he was still angry, that she shouldn’t want him like this, that they were both confused about what was between them. They would be using each other for the pleasure that would distract them from everything else going wrong in their lives.
And she didn’t care. She could only stare in rising tension as she realized that the hair on his chest narrowed and continued on down.
And then he started speaking in a low, taut voice that was full of hunger. “From the moment I saw you sitting in that carriage in Hyde Park, you captured my attention.”
She clenched the sheets in her fists to keep from reaching for him. And then she knew she didn’t want to stop herself. She slid the sheet from her legs and turned to face him, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn’t care anymore about who she was or what she was supposed to do. Here in the dark of the night, she only wanted to be his lover.
“You were against every rule I set for myself,” he murmured, “which only made me want you more.”
As he undid the last button on his trousers, she let loose her hair, and he froze, watching her, his dark eyes gleaming out of the shadowed sockets. And then she began to unbutton the bodice of her nightgown. Though her fingers trembled, she didn’t stop. When she could go no further, she let the sleeves fall from her shoulders. The gown separated at her breasts, baring her to him. For a moment, a spell trapped them in infinite awareness of each other and what they were about to do.
His voice was as guttural and dark as night. “I held myself back from seducing you. But I no longer care about why I shouldn’t.”
And then he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. His body glistened as if it were a work of art, dark muscles highlighted by moonlight. The hair that had narrowed beneath his trousers circled his erect penis. Instead of being afraid of the very differentness of his body, she felt awed and somehow proud that she had inspired his arousal.
And then he dropped to his knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed, his arms about her waist. His body parted her thighs, making her nightgown ride up. She bent her head for his kiss, but instead he lifted her breasts in both hands as if to feast on them. Her head fell back in deep pleasure as his lips and tongue tormented her. She clasped her legs about his back, held him hard against her, felt his flesh against the intimacy of her womanhood. Then his mouth moved lower, tracing down her stomach, dipping into her navel, even as his shoulders broke the hold of her legs. She fell back on her elbows, had no time for even a moment of embarrassment, for with a groan he spread her legs wide and kissed her where she hadn’t even imagined a man touching her.
But it wasn’t just a kiss; he suckled her, caressed her with his tongue, even dipping inside her until she cried out with the pleasure of it. Heat and desire swirled inside her, making her tremble. Inside her rose a need so powerful, she didn’t understand it, didn’t know toward what he could be guiding her.
And then he rose, and without even climbing onto the bed, he grasped her hips in his hands and entered her with one swift thrust. The momentary pain made her gasp, and he held still, watching her. He felt so large, so foreign inside her. She stared at him with wide eyes.
He leaned over her, hands braced on each side of her, and began to move. She groaned, and her body responded by again finding that fever pitch, that rising urgency that made her arch against him, lifting her hips. Everything he did felt so good. His face was harsh with concentration, half-shadowed by the pale light. She wanted to touch him, please him, but she didn’t know what he wanted her to do. At last she reached to touch his chest, his neck, the damp heat of his shoulders.
Then he bent farther and took her nipple into his mouth, and she hugged his head to her. The spark of that made her strain against him, seeking the elusive culmination of this passion that soared between.
And then it seemed to explode inside her body, breaking over her in shuddering ripples of pleasure. She lost awareness of everything but how they were joined as one, moving together through this wondrous sensation. He groaned deep in his throat, thrusting into her ever more slowly.
She reached for him, wanting to touch him, to share the drowsy feeling of contentment their lovemaking had inspired in her. But he levered himself to his feet, almost as if he were unsteady. Passion had drained her of will and the energy to move, but when he left her body and reached for his clothing, she brought her trembling legs together and sat up. He didn’t look at her as he pulled up his trousers and fastened them. Her feeling of peace began to fade beneath mounting tension.
“Chris?” She hated how tentative her voice sounded—almost frightened.
Still keeping his eyes averted, he buttoned his shirt. “The bargain is met.”
She frowned in confusion. “But—what does this mean? What will you do?”Am I supposed to leave your home now? After this?But she couldn’t speak the words aloud, was afraid of the answer.
She suddenly realized that her nightgown was still bunched at her waist. Pulling at it in embarrassment, she felt the urgent need to cover herself.
He hadn’t even kissed her, not once.
Although he’d kissed her body. She thought she should feel ashamed of that, but she wasn’t. She’d wanted him, and she could not blame him for that.
He turned toward the door, then stopped, his back to her. “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
And then he left her, not even taking the precaution of making sure the corridor was empty.
She sat still as a sense of numbness crept over her. Her nightgown felt suddenly…damp. At last she made herself get up in the darkness, and she hid the garment in a back corner of the wardrobe, not wanting the maid to see it. Abigail had been told enough about lovemaking to know there might be evidence of what she’d done. She would dispose of it later.
As she washed and drew on a fresh nightgown, her body felt not her own, as if it had changed. Everything had changed, she reminded herself with a sigh. She didn’t know what her purpose was anymore, except the growing feeling that regardless of how coolly Christopher had just treated her, she was more and more convinced that she could not write about him. She would not be able to live with herself.
Was she going to be allowed to return to London? Even after what they’d just shared, it galled her to know he had that kind of control over her. He’d said he never had a mistress, so she must be the sort of woman he enjoyed for a night, then left, with no commitment between them.
That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?
Yet she would see him at the breakfast table in the morning, would have to pretend that nothing had changed. And although part of her wanted to cry, she was mostly angry. She was not meekly going to creep away. He didn’t trust her, and didn’t want her to write the article. So she would see how he treated her.
